Palestinian Poetry Blogging
Were It Up To Me To Begin Again
Were it up to me to begin again. I would make the same choice. Roses on
the fence.
I would travel the same roads that might or might not lead to Cordoba.
I would lay my shadow down on two rocks, so that birds could nest on one of the boughs.
I would break open my shadow for the scent of almond to float in a cloud of dust
and grow tired on the slopes. Come closer, and listen.
Share my bread, drink my wine, don't leave me alone like a tired willow.
I love lands not trod over by songs of migration, or become subject to
passions of blood and desire.
I love women whose hidden desires make horses put an end to their lives at
the threshold.
If I return, I will return to the same rose and follow the same steps.
But never to Cordoba.
From Fewer Roses (1986) by Mahmoud Darwish
Translated by Munir Akash and Carolyn Forché
Were It Up To Me To Begin Again
Were it up to me to begin again. I would make the same choice. Roses on
the fence.
I would travel the same roads that might or might not lead to Cordoba.
I would lay my shadow down on two rocks, so that birds could nest on one of the boughs.
I would break open my shadow for the scent of almond to float in a cloud of dust
and grow tired on the slopes. Come closer, and listen.
Share my bread, drink my wine, don't leave me alone like a tired willow.
I love lands not trod over by songs of migration, or become subject to
passions of blood and desire.
I love women whose hidden desires make horses put an end to their lives at
the threshold.
If I return, I will return to the same rose and follow the same steps.
But never to Cordoba.
From Fewer Roses (1986) by Mahmoud Darwish
Translated by Munir Akash and Carolyn Forché
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